Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 3-4 // The Dungeon of Truth (C.STRAY)

THE TRUTH COMES SECOND - 3 

USED AUTOMATIC TWELVE  

Writing Rank - 2nd
Ballot Rank - 1st

THE TRUTH COMES SECOND - 4

Torch the ground, and the sky will leap away.

Smooth fabric slipped over grease-encrusted skin, a deep black entwined with veiny greens, so luxurious at that moment that Carrick felt undermined by wearing it. Unlike his previous attire, this was fitting, and not flouncing about his ankles. After his "accident" they'd shipped him something new, something fresh, something him.

Something about the dress had slipped him a mask of panic; now he was calm, as he should've been since the start. He was crisp, as he should've been from the start. He stepped out from behind a wall, and flashed a smile at Wilden, as he should've been doing from the start.

The boy grinned back, taking a step forward to hand his weapon back. In that short moment of close proximity, Carrick found himself glancing up to look the boy in the face - huh, since when was he tall? - and a twinge of self-consciousness settled in his gut, for he'd always been the tall one to ruffle another's hair, not the other way around.

Speaking of which, the expectation of having his hair ruffled was never there, so when Wilden reached out to flatten stray pieces, Carrick's first instinct was to flinch away until the friendly adjustments were finished. Wilden stepped back, tilted his head to make sure everything was in order. Then he coughed. "Just some pieces still sticking up from the uh, game."

Carrick's lip twitched, but involuntary, and only a leftover act from the previous hours. Right. That game.

They walked on through the castle after those small words, but his mind kept flickering back to a ring of people, all seated criss-cross applesauce, staring on at one another. They all spoke trembling words, tongues laced with fear for being bested by lucky and unlucky guesses.

It was a recollection of truths Carrick was going through, but when the ring settled its gaze upon him, he hadn't been sure if his own words were forged of truth or lie.

"I knew a tribute from years' past. True or false?"

Speculation took ten seconds, eyes scanning the lines of his face from the other side of the ring for an answer. He remembered thinking how it'd always been his face to give him away before the words spilled from his opponent's mouth.

"True."

And then all he'd seen was flashing black, and all he'd felt had been the cold ground beneath his back and the pain that accompanied being proved right.

At the moment, the shocks had been the source of his pain, but now, while his legs still shook, he felt it all coming from a much duller weapon. It was unlike the sharp slice of a blade, and more like the jagged end of a dull rock pressing against his chest, leaving slow bruises but never cuts.

I knew a tribute from years' past. True or false?

True.

They died as most do. True or false?

True.

His hands slipped beneath the collar of his new suit, desperate to clasp onto something until they brushed a silky green ribbon. He tugged it out from under the shirt so the key dangling at the bottom rested plainly at the center of his chest. He grasped it with a shaking fist - only leftover trembles.